Revenge
by TheSecretUchiha
Summary: Scorpia never forgot. Scorpia never forgave. The problem is, neither did Alex. Alex/ K-Unit interactions. Initial character death.
1. Prologue

Another new story that probably won't get updated very much!

It's probably a bad idea to keep on publishing all the work I've done so far when I know I probably won't finish them, but I'm hoping it'll give me more inspiration!

So please review and tell me to get my a$$ in gear and write more chapters!!! Lol.

Anyway:

Disclaimer: All rights of Alex Rider belong to Anthony Horowitz and, because of him, MI6. I earn no money from this story, unless people want to start sending donations???

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Prologue

Scorpia never forgot.

Scorpia never forgave.

The sniper had been paid to take revenge and that was what he would do. His own life would be forfeit if he failed.

As usual he would aim for the heart. The target area would be a fraction smaller this time but he would not miss. He never missed. It was time to prepare himself, to bring his breathing under control, to enter that state of calm before the kill.

He focussed his attention on the gun that he was holding, the self-loading Ruger .22 model K10/22-T. It was a low velocity weapon, less deadly than some he might have chosen. But the gun had two huge advantages. It was light. And it was very compact. By removing just two screws he had been able to separate the battle and the trigger mechanism from the stock. The stock itself folded in two. He had been able to carry the whole thing across London in an ordinary sports bag without drawing attention to himself. In his line of work, that was the critical thing.

He squared his eye against the Leupold 14x50mm Side Focus scope, adjusting the cross hairs against the door through which the target would pass. He loved the feel of the gun in his hands, the snug fit, the perfect balance. He had had it customised to suit his needs. The stock was laminated wood with water-resistant adhesive, making it stronger and less likely to warp. The trigger mechanism had been taken apart and polished for a smoother release. The rifle would reload itself as fast as he could fire it – but he would only need a single shot.

The sniper was content. When he fired, for the blink of an eye, as the bullet began its journey down the barrel, travelling at three hundred and thirty-one metres per second, he and the rifle would be one. The target didn't matter. Even the payment was almost irrelevant. The act of killing was enough in itself. It was better than anything in the world. In that moment, the sniper was God.

He waited. He was lying on his stomach on the roof of an office block, two streets away, still with a perfect view of the target's location.

The door opened and the target appeared. As usual, the sniper blanked his mind to the target's identity. They were a heart, a pair of lungs, a convoluted system of veins and arteries. But very soon they would be nothing at all. That was why the sniper was here. To perform a little act of surgery – not with a scalpel but a bullet.

He licked his lips and focused all his attention on his target. He wasn't holding a gun. The gun was part of him. His finger curled against the trigger. He relaxed, enjoying the moment, preparing to fire…

The paramedics responded quickly, but even with their quick response it was too late. Jacqueline Starbright was pronounced dead on the scene.

* * *

Okay, I'm sure all of you noticed that just about the chapter in its entirety was taken from Scorpia's final chapter 'A Mother's Touch'

Therefore, all credit for this chapter, minus the twist I instilled into the mix, goes to Anthony Horowitz.

Hope you like it!


	2. Chapter 1: Of Death and Guardians

Disclaimer: Do I own Alex Rider? I wish!

* * *

Of Death and Revelations

Registration at Brookland was an uneventful process. Ten minutes to chat to mates before classes begun as the teacher took attendance. Last week, however, the class was surprised by the return on the class's biggest mystery. The return of Alex Rider. He had gone missing in Venice, much to the frustration of Mr Grey, who had vouched for him to be allowed on the trip. For him to just disappear on the last day had been a personal insult to the man.

Everyone knew the story of Alex Rider though – or they _thought_ they did at least. He had been the perfect student: smart, athletic, and witty. But after his Uncle's death he had completely changed. He started skipping school, taking drugs, even completely demolishing the science lab! Therefore, when the teacher, Mrs Pine, called out 'Mr Rider', no one was too surprised at the few seconds silence before she moved on with a small sigh.

Tom was the only one who knew anything near the truth about Alex Rider, but even he decided not to worry about it too much. 'He's probably away saving the world somewhere' he thought to himself, surprised by the small amount of spite in his thought before shoving it back. He had always been a slight bit jealous of Alex, no matter what his best mate told him otherwise. 'But he'll be fine. He's always fine.'

The next day they got a call from St. Dominic's – slightly surprised at receiving a call from such a high-class hospital over Alex – explaining that Alex was suffering a left-over bout of illness from his previous case of pneumonia.

Of course the doctor was legitimate so they had no option but to accept that as the truth, no matter how much they thought otherwise.

It was two weeks before the were contacted again, however this phone call was slightly different than normal…

"Hello, this is Mary Ward from St. Dominic's Hospital. Is this Brookland High School?"

Miss Bedfordshire sighed softly before responding, "Yes, is this about Alex again?" She tried her hardest but couldn't quite manage to keep the exasperation out of her voice. That boy…

"Yes, I'm dreadfully sorry to have to inform you but Mr Rider passed away late last night. The pneumonia caused too much stress to his already weak immune system. He passed away in his sleep."

She let out a small gasp before a dry sob heaved up her throat as the woman on the other end continued to speak, the condolences not even reaching her.

"I'm… I'm putting y- you through to the… the headmaster now. He'll need t… to…" she couldn't manage to get further as the tears overwhelmed her and she just diverted the call straight through to the headmaster's office. She hunched over her desk, ignoring the looks from the students sent to the office, as well as the comforting hand of Miss Cawood, on her break. She had always had a soft spot for Alex and it had pained her when he had started to go down hill yet she had assumed the worst of him when he had started missing extended periods of time, like the rest of the school. Oh how she wished she could take it back now!

Tom was sitting in French, his last class of the day, when Miss Lewis gently tapped on the door, informing Madame Coquerelle that the headmaster had called an urgent assembly and that they were to go to the assembly hall immediately, with their bags, for school was finishing early today.

Tom noticed the grave look on her face but pushed it aside as he and the rest of the class cheered, pushing their stuff in their bags again, having only got it out five minutes beforehand.

He walked to the hall with David, deciding on when to meet up that weekend for a game of football. It had been hard for him after Alex's many disappearances, he was his only friend, but David had been great, inviting him out with his other friends all the time. Most of the school was seated by the time their class arrived, most gossiping loudly, glancing frequently at the teachers. Many of them seemed grave as they talked quietly on the stage and, even from a distance, it was clear Miss Bedfordshire had been – or still was – crying.

Tom's heart raced, wondering what on earth could have happened to cause such a reaction within the school. Unless someone had… Mr Perks had been off for a week… He sat down, numbly, staring as the headmaster took his place at the centre of the stage, waiting for silence. It was still over a minute until he got it.

"All of you are so young," he started out, "But I can see in each one of you amazing and caring minds. Whether you're academically talented, athletic, or even just slightly more caring than the next person, each of you has something that they can be proud of about themselves. And each of you has so much potential that I can see blooming already."

He paused, taking a deep, steadying breath before ploughing on, his voice wavering slightly, "However, it isn't always the case that I am able to watch as you develop into your true selves… sometimes a life can be ended long before their time and unfortunately we are at a point where we have to say farewell to another young mind who we have known in our time at this school."

He sighed, taking several moments to run his hands through his hair, allowing the teenagers to share concerned glances, trying to guess who he might be talking about.

"I received a phone call earlier today from St. Dominic's hospital and I have to inform you that Alex Rider died last night from pneumonia."

Tom choked on his breath. It couldn't be! The illnesses were just a cover! Unless he'd died- NO! He wasn't dead! It was just MI6 trying to cover up an extended absence! He'll be back in a few months! He had to be…

The headmaster continued, his eyes scanning over the reactions of his pupils. "The pneumonia took its grip over his weak immune system and eventually he passed away. I'm going to ask you all to stand now, and participate in a two minutes' silence in memory of Alex Rider before you are sent home for the day."

They all rose, and Tom could only stare numbly at the back of the girl in front of him, only managing to sit at the end when David pulled him back into his seat.

They were dismissed as a group, none of the teachers quite able to order them into any sort of order. Mr Trough, the history teacher, came over to his seat when most of the students had left, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and leading him to the office.

"The headmaster wants to speak with you before you go Tom, it shouldn't take too long."

He could only nod dumbly as he was steered through the doors.

Alex was gone.

* * *

Very short, I know! But I really wanted to get the reaction from the school in a chapter of it's own and there wasn't much else i could write about it!


	3. Chapter 2: Two Weeks Previously

Disclaimer: I've written to Anthony Horowitz, demanding he hand over the rights to Alex Rider. He's hasn't got back to me yet…

Yet again, the start of this chapter uses sections mostly taken from the most spectacular book 'Scorpia'.

* * *

Two weeks previously…

Alex Rider stepped out onto the street. It was about five o'clock and there were quite a few people around. He was thinking about all the things he had been told in Alan Blunt's office. They still wouldn't quite register. It was just too much to take in. his father hadn't been an assassin; he had been a spy, working for MI6. John Rider and Ian Rider. Both spies. And now Alex Rider. At last they were a family.

And yet…

Mrs Jones had told him that she wanted him to make a choice, but he wasn't sure that the choice had ever been his. Yes, he had chosen not to belong to Scorpia. But that didn't mean he had to be a lifelong member of MI6. Alan Blunt would want to use him again: that much was certain. But maybe he would fine the strength to refuse. Maybe knowing the truth about his father would be enough. He still had Jack after all.

All sorts of confusing thoughts were racing through his mind. But he had already made one decision. He wanted to be with Jack. He wanted to forget his homework and go out for a film and a blowout dinner. Nothing healthy. He had said he would be home by six, but perhaps he would call and meet her at the multiplex on the Fulham Road. It was Saturday. He deserved a night out.

He took a step and stopped. Something had hit him in the chest; it was as if he had been punched. He looked left and right but there was nobody close to him. How very strange.

And here was something else. Liverpool Street seemed to be running uphill. He knew it was flat, but now it was definitely slanting. Even the buildings were leaning to one side. He didn't understand what was happening. The colour was rapidly draining out of the air. As he looked, the world went from colour to black and white, apart from a few splashes here and there: the bright yellow of a café sign, the blue of a car…

…and the red of blood. He looked down and was surprised to see that his whole front was turning crimson. There was an irregular shape spreading rapidly across his sweatshirt. A few pedestrians had stopped and turned to look at him. They were shocked. There was a woman screaming. But she was making no sound at all.

A crowd had gathered. It was closing in on him and Alex wished it would go away. There must have been thirty or forty people, pointing and gesticulating. Why were they so interested in him? And why couldn't he move any more?

Alex was starting to feel scared. There was no pain at all, but something told him that he must have been hurt. He was lying on the pavement, although he didn't know how he had got there. There was a red circle around him, widening with every second that passed.

And then he saw three people. Two were watching him from the crowds, with a mixture of sadness and understanding, as if they had always expected this to happen but were still sorry that it had. The other was kneeling beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder with a soft smile lighting up her face.

"J- Jack…" he tried to reach out to her but she just shook her head sadly as she stood from her crouch, the other two people separating from the crowd and standing behind her.

The other woman knelt now, reaching out a hand. She reached out and touched him, her finger finding the exact spot where there was a small hole in his shirt.

No pain. Just a sense of tiredness and resignation.

Alex Rider smiled and closed his eyes.

The beeping of an ECG from nearby was the first thing he noticed. Next was the bright red, from where sunlight was hitting his eyelids, causing the thin skin between his eyes and the surroundings to be illuminated. The final thing he became aware of before full consciousness returned to him was the smell. Hospital.

He slowly flickered his eyes open, just a crack first to allow his eyes to adapt to the intensity of the light in the room, before slowly levering them further open until he was taking in the room with a quiet curiosity.

It wasn't that he was truly interested but with all the machines connected to him, he couldn't just leave without causing a miniature riot: and after all the missions he had been on – all the near-death experiences – he liked to know his closest exit.

He didn't have to wait long until an attractive nurse, in her mid-twenties entered, looking over several sheets on a light brown clipboard. She looked up only to find him looking back and gave a quick squeak and scampering back out.

Alex would have laughed – he normally would – but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to. There was something niggling at his conscience, telling him there was something wrong, but he just couldn't figure it out.

He glanced around the room again, trying to find anything out of place or suspicious that might cause a gut feeling like this but couldn't quite see anything.

Just as Mrs Jones walked through the door did he realise what was causing his discomfort.

"Where's Jack?"

The house was dead. There was a slight patch on the front step that he could swear held a tint of red. The agents stopped as he did, shifting nervously behind him as he stared round the dark house.

It wasn't his home anymore. Not since all the people who made it so had been killed. He had been released from the hospital that morning, a bit earlier than what the doctors had wanted but MI6 insisted on moving him to a more secure location in case Scorpia tried to finish the job.

He had been briefed of what had happened and what would happen now. He was being sent back to Beacon Breton to do proper training before undertaking anymore missions – unless it was crucial. But MI6 were his guardians now, they didn't want to risk their best operative being killed, they wanted to make sure he was fully ready for anything else that could be thrown at him: and he agreed. Jack would have wanted him to continue his education, but he knew more importantly to be safe. He would be safe with the SAS, and MI6 had also decided to send him a tutor, to ensure he got his GCSE's at least.

He had agreed with everything they had said, even to being placed with K-Unit again at the camp, until it came to collecting his possessions. Blunt had been adamant that several agents collect his things for him but he had flat out refused. He _needed_ to go back to what had been his home all his life one last time. So many memories of happier times, before his uncle had been murdered and he was pulled into the world of spies and assassins.

Finally he moved forward, only just realising he had been standing at the door for over five minutes now. He started in his room, gathering the clothes he would need first, being the job that would cause him least pain. The ones he left would be collected by MI6 and put in storage until everything was safe and he could sort it all out. Once he was done there he made his way to Ian's old room. They hadn't touched it since his death but he entered now, knowing he wouldn't be able to for a long time. The pictures still sitting on his desk, framed in silver, of those few happy moments when he wasn't away on a mission, were the first things he went to. He stared at them all for several bittersweet moments before placing them in a stack and opening the draws, looking for anything important that he couldn't bear to leave.

Most of it was unimportant papers – holiday package details, car adverts, phone numbers of 'friends' – all no doubt planted by Ian to throw anyone off. What he did find important though, was at the very bottom of the neatly arranged stack – a letter addressed to him.

Taking the celtic-styled paper knife he quickly cut the top open and pulled out the precisely folded, crisp-white paper.

"Dearest Alex,

I suppose I'll start very clichéd by saying: if you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Or your going through things that don't concern you again and don't doubt that you'll be punished when I find out, because I _will_ find out!"

Alex couldn't stop himself chuckling slightly; he had never had the chance to see this side of his uncle. Ian had never been great with looking after a child and so he was always upright and proper when it came to Alex. Shaking those thoughts from his head he continued to read.

"I bet you thought I didn't have a humorous side? Well, for that I must apologize Alex. I know I haven't been a great uncle to you, and by now it's no doubt too late to make it up to you, but I do love you very much. You don't know how much I would like to tell you all about my job – the things I've done and seen, the atrocities I've committed – but that is already more than I should have said. There's a chance that you'll also become involved in the life I lived, Alan Blunt can be very manipulative. But you'll still have Jack. You know I don't trust many people Alex, but I can say for sure that Jack will look after you as best she can. That's all I've got to say Alex. I hope you have a happy future and can already tell you'll grow up to be an intelligent young man, just don't forget all that I've taught you.

Good luck Alex,

Ian Rider."

His sides shook with suppressed tears for several moments before he stilled himself and folded the letter carefully into his inside pocket of his jacket.

The rest of the desk proved fruitless and he moved to the bookcase to the right of the bed.

Most of the shelves were taken up with novels, several with classical music and a hi-fi system. On the third shelf up on the left however, he found a deep red book, delicate yet sturdy. Flicking it open he couldn't stop the gasp as he saw pictures spanning from his father's childhood, to his adulthood. He hugged the book close to him for several moments, before placing it on the bed and taking the photos from the pile on the desk. Carefully he slid each out and placed them into pages in the album, before gently placing his letter in the back page as well for safekeeping.

Once done the photo album went into his bag as well before he went to Jack's room.

The agent ushered him quickly into the car and slammed the door closed behind him, glancing around several times before getting into the front seat and nodding to his partner to drive.

Alex watched as the house grew smaller, until they turned the corner and it disappeared from view.

His hands clasped around the silver dragon on the cord necklace Jack had given him as a good luck charm before his involvement in the mission at Skeleton Key. He looked to the front again: he had everything he needed from the house anyway.

The last time he had been here, he lamented to himself, he hadn't faced death. He hadn't seen the cruelties of the world or stopped crazed millionaires from trying to destroy it… It hadn't changed much.

He had been flown in by helicopter before being escorted to the sergeants tent where he stood to attention now, waiting for the sergeant to finish examining him.

"You're back." He stated, before yelling sharply, "Why?"

"MI6 want me to complete the full training, sir."

"Do they think I'm running some sort of day-care here!?! This is the SAS boy! I said you weren't ready for it then and I don't think you're ready for it now! You can tell your MI6 that I am running a serious training operation here! I don't have time to baby-sit kids whenever they need it!"

Alex continued staring straight ahead, unflinching as spit flew at him.

"With all due respect, sir, you have no choice in the matter."

Alex knew it would get the sergeant mad, but he wasn't trying to keep people happy anymore. Why bother? He was being truthful.

"You little-"

"I'm afraid he's right sergeant."

The man leapt slightly as Alan Blunt himself entered the tent, grey suit crisp and grey glasses framing his beady eyes, looking as out of place as a civil rights activist in SCORPIA.

If Alex hadn't become especially skilled at reading people he would have missed the slight quirk of amusement in Blunt's face as the sergeant jumped to attention as well.

"At ease soldiers."

He motioned the sergeant to take a seat again before taking one himself opposite, Alex standing just behind him.

"Unfortunately, as Alex said just before, there is no other options for Alex. Training is the best way to maximise the use of his time until it is safe for him to continue his work. He will train here, as if he were a proper recruit, however a tutor will also be frequenting the camp to allow him to also continue his proper education – as you know it is illegal to finish your education before the age of sixteen.

I will, of course, brief you on everything you need to know before heading back to London. Alex, you may leave to your barracks. K-Unit will have arrived by now and will be in the process of unpacking. The sergeant will give you your timetable at dinner tonight."

Alex nodded, leaving quietly out the door. He paused when the sergeant spoke.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, why did you come all the way out here for a kid?"

Blunt gave a short humourless laugh, "Wouldn't you do the same for your best operative?"

Alex allowed himself a small smirk of victory before moving on.


	4. Chapter 3: Reunion

Disclaimer: still no word back from Anthony Horowitz. I'm thinking maybe he's going to refuse me the rights of Alex Rider… just maybe.

* * *

Reunion.

The plain wooden barracks were exactly the same as Alex remembered them. Plain. No five star accommodation at Beacon Brecons. Even from the door he could hear the grumbling of its inhabitants.

Without any further hesitation he pushed the door open, loud enough for the occupants to notice and turn to look, before striding in, ignoring the glares he was receiving. There was only four bunks and, after a quick glance around, Alex realised Fox wasn't present. There was no way he was just out in the camp – Blunt had said they'd just arrived and there was no pack lying around – so he walked over to the available bunk and dumped his stuff down beside it and sat down on the hard mattress, beginning to sort through his pack whilst waiting for the questions that were bound to come.

"Cub." Alex wasn't surprised that it was Wolf to grind out his codename first. He could tell Point Blanc was merely a détente in Wolf's hatred of him, nothing permanent.

He looked up at the man who was glaring at him but didn't say anything.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Alex stared back blankly for several seconds before responding, coldly, "Training, I don't tend to come here for the night life."

Wolf growled again, making a small step forwards before stopping himself and turning back to his pack sharply.

Alex took the chance to look at the other two, Snake and Eagle, who were both watching him coldly before they too went back to unpacking.

His pack was soon empty; his most important possessions – the photo album, letter and old gadgets from Smithers – were all pushed under the mattress on his bed for safekeeping. When he finished he headed out to the mess hall, the rest of his unit having left several minutes earlier.

He had no illusions about them, there was going to be no difference from last time, especially if they find out that it was his fault they're back at the camp. But this time Alex knew he could match them, he was just as good as them now quite possibly even better after – though he loathed to admit it – the training from SCORPIA. And this time he wouldn't let them walk all over him.

All faces turned to face him as he entered the mess hall and the talking stopped, the heads swivelling with his movements until he got to the counter and the buzz of speech started up again. He took the slop they placed on his plate and sat at the end of a bench, several seats away from the closest SAS soldier.

His fork began to slowly stir the drivel, 'Nothing but the best for Britain's elite…'

The sound of a chair being pushed back drew everyone's attention but Alex didn't turn around, ignoring the man even when he stood right behind him.

"What the hell is a kid doing here? Someone think this is a family holiday!?!" the man behind him sneered and grabbed his shoulder, yanking it back and forcing Alex to face him.

"Who the hell are you kid!?!"

Alex stared at him blankly for several seconds, taking in the man's appearance. He was taller than most men, not quiet lanky but given another few inches he would be. His muscles were thin, but most likely because he wasn't built to be bulky. His face was narrow, with a pointed chin and a long nose. His eyes were a golden brown, so much so they almost seemed yellow and his hair was near black.

The man glared at him, "Well?"

When Alex didn't respond his fist drew back slightly, about to come back to connect with his face when the door slammed open.

"Heron! Get the hell away from the kid or you'll get kitchen duty for a week. I don't take behaviour like that in my camp! Especially not from rookies like you! I see you doing that again, I'll bin you!"

Heron looked reluctant, but after the threat of being binned, straightened and began walking away, "Yes sir."

The sergeant nodded stiffly before walking to Alex. Several sheets of paper were dropped in front of him.

"You're called Cougar now, not Cub. They gave me your files and ordered that for the first week you aren't allowed to do any physical activities – you can sit in lectures, language courses and I suppose take part in shooting practise – then after the week you'll have a check up and they'll decide if you can start proper training then."

Alex nodded – having already assumed that would be the case – while ignoring the glares from the rest of the soldiers.

"I don't want any trouble from you while you're hear Cougar. The men will give you a hard time but I don't care about that. It's an insult to them that you're dumped with us whenever _they_ feel like it so you're just going to have to suck it up."

The sergeant slammed his hand down on the table on top of the papers, leaning down imposingly over his shoulder so his mouth hovered beside Alex's ear.

"Good work kid."

Alex allowed a faint smirk to grace his lips as the sergeant leant back.

"Get that smirk off your god-damn face!"

Monday morning soon dawned with the natural hatred, though Alex knew each morning would soon be the same. While the rest of K-unit headed off on their morning run, Alex headed to the mess hall while it was quiet. The chef dutifully doled out a pile of fresh slop, this one of the green variety compared to the grey he had received previously.

He ate it quickly, dumping his tray as the members of K-unit – faster than the other units due to their seniority – entered the hall. As the sergeant had instructed he dutifully ignored the taunts from Wolf and returned Eagle and Snake's silence.

Returning to the barracks he pulled out his timetable to find out what he was doing first.

'Shooting Range, then lecture on covert operations & infiltration. Not a high priority from SAS but necessary non-the-less.' He thought to himself as he left the barracks and began to make his way to the shooting range.

It was just outside the camp, several minutes walk away so the gunshots didn't disturb the other sessions. Alex stalked the worn path to the area softly, quiet movements instilled into him from his previous missions.

He reached the main entrance to the shooting range early, ignoring the sneer from the arms master and picked out a Sig Sauer P226 – a pistol used by the SAS in counter-terrorism operations. The gun rested neatly in his hand as his fingers gripped around the handle. Happy with his choice, he went to the furthest empty booth and quickly dismantled and reassembled it just slightly slower than his best with Scorpia. Satisfied that he hadn't lost his touch he flicked the safety off and quickly unloaded the barrel into the targets.

A snort from behind him drew his attention to the observing K-unit, all with matching sneers on their faces. Wolf arrogantly swaggered forwards and pressed the button to draw the targets in.

"Trying to be the next 007, Cub?" he scoffed while Alex remained impassive, confident in his accuracy. With a final derisive sneer, Wolf turned his back to him, as the target came into view. For several seconds Wolf just stared at it before tugging it down from the clips. With his back obscuring their sight, neither Snake nor Eagle could see the target. After several moments Wolf's fists tightened before scrunching the sheet into a small ball and throwing it at Alex's chest.

"As if."

He stalked out moodily and entered the next booth, allowing him to watch through the mesh walls.

Alex quickly loaded and unloaded another round resulting in the same outcome. Content with the results, he swiftly dismantled the gun again and cleaned it off before returning to the armory to get another gun to practice with.

Even after his rather outstanding display with the Sig Sauer P226, subsequently followed by the M4 SOPMOD assault rifle, Wolf continued to taunt him, particularly when K-Unit headed out on a physical activity and Alex found himself left at the camp. For now he had nothing to fill these gaps in his schedule. Within the next few days he would be receiving his tutor and, according to the sheets provided by the sergeant, a psychiatrist. Apparently now he was in MI6's hands he would get the proper deal – the full cover. As if they were setting him up for a future career. Not that he cared anymore, as long as SCORPIA suffered for killing Jack, then he would be content.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he headed back to his bunk to rest, having nothing better to do with his time.

Dinner was a silent event for Alex – not so much for the rest of the mess hall. However after the previous night the soldiers had learnt to ignore him if insulted by his presence, or at least wait until there was no one present who would snitch on them.

Having started dinner much earlier, Alex managed to escape the hall only five minutes after the majority of the soldiers entered. Returning to the cabin he grabbed the military provided towel and soap and headed to the showers, hoping to avoid the majority of shower-goers, not that he would go out of his way to do so.

As it turned out, no one was in the stalls when he entered and he quickly chose the furthest shower, giving him time enough to grab his towel and finish as soon as anyone else entered the cabin.

He quickly stripped, entering the shower while it was still luke-warm and immediately lathering up. He was just rinsing the suds from his hair when he heard the door creak open and another soldier enter.

He flicked the shower off and, hearing another stall door open, chanced opening his to grab his towel.

Unfortunately the soldier was still there and caught a glance of him as he shot back in to dry off.

He ignored the taunting snigger.

"It's alright if you got nothing to show, _Cub_. You _are_ still a kid after all." The taunt in the two sentences was obvious, even to the most thickheaded person. He ignored that as well.

However he cursed himself when the footsteps approached his stall and he realized his uniform was still out there. He didn't put it passed any of the soldiers to dump it somewhere in the camp for him to find.

As if reading his thoughts, the – as-of-yet unnamed – soldiers spoke up, "You know I could leave your uniform anywhere in the camp, and the sergeant _does_ check that everyone still has two uniforms _pretty_ regularly. Wonder what would happen if he found you had one missing? And of course there's the fact you would have to cross the whole camp nude to get your other uniform… now come out of the god-damn stall Cub."

Finding no other option left to him, he wrapped the towel firmly around his waist and yanked the door open, perhaps more forcefully than he had intended to, to face his current tormentor.

The cocky smirk on the blonde, twenty-something year old was infuriating. He had hazel eyes and tanned skin to complement his hair. And having stripped to his boxers, Alex could see he was pretty in shape, and a reasonably new recruit, going by the lack of distinct scars but slightly bruised body.

After taking all that in, in barely a seconds glance, he looked stubbornly at the captor's face, ignoring the smirk for now. "Well, the camp's a buzz all about you. People say you've been here before. And I think it's about time we got a few answers while you're in a… delicate pos-"

He had traced a contemptuous glance down his naked front, only to stop short when he actually looked at the boy in front of him properly.

His jaw just seemed to stop working halfway through forming a word and he couldn't manage to close it again. Blinking several times, Ferret took another look, unbelieving of what he was seeing. This brat… this _kid_ was literally littered with scars, vicious burns and, unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, a bullet wound. Directly over the heart. Deadly.

This was the kid that was the butt of the camps jokes, their new prey. They all hated this little kid, this punk. Some rich brat sent to _their_ camp to learn a lesson he didn't quite get the first time round. Some teenager who had stepped out of line one too many times and was now forced into a camp he didn't quite fit into.

And suddenly _he_ was the one feeling out of place, the one who didn't belong. This kid wasn't avoiding them because he couldn't take them, but because he had experience none of them did and was probably laughing at their attempts to play soldier. This was a practiced soldier and he felt like the child underneath the piercing glare he was being fixed with. This kid who must be only just sixteen, making a grown man quiver with his gaze. And how unnaturally empty it was. This kid had seen a lot.

The whole camp was stupid, this was the real deal and _they_ were the ones behaving like school kids, laughing and taunting. He had never felt such a fool before.

And then the kid – man, opened his mouth.

"Are you done with my clothes?"

The man before him just continued to gape for several more seconds before nodding, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"Where'd you get that wound?" he asked, motioning to his chest.

"Classified."

"You're joking right," for some reason Ferret couldn't stop his mouth running away from him, just too used to taunting this kid even after just twenty four hours. "As if someone like you would have anything classified! And as far as bullet wounds go," he began, trying to sound like he'd seen a lot, "That's quite a nice one. Right over the-"

He was forced into silence as the breath was knocked out of him, "_Never_ talk about that wound again, got it? And no one else is to hear anything about this!" he whispered savagely into the elder blonde's ear. "There's nothing cool, or impressive about bullet wounds, alright? You'll find if you keep running your mouth from now on, people won't take kindly too it. I'm fed up of being treated like I don't belong here. I have as much – _more_ right to be here than the rest of you and if you can't stick that, then there's going to be some problems. The sergeant can't get rid of me, but he sure as hell can bin anyone of you if you start causing trouble. And if you start something with me, from now on, there will be trouble."

Ferret found himself inexplicably nodding erratically, not quite understanding how this young kid could terrify him quite so much. And yet knowing that every word whispered in his ear, dripping with venom, was meant.

The new recruit found he couldn't stop himself from staring as the boy dressed, finally covering his scar-riddled body, before brushing roughly passed him.

The door slammed with a resounding 'thunk'.

* * *

I'm not planning on making Ferret an important character - although warning now, a lot of the time things don't go as i plan, so he could very well be here for a while.

I should also mention I just about NEVER have a story planned while I'm writing it. That gets me bored of the story quicker cause i'm just rewriting what's already writen. So I just make it up as I go along instead, hoping it turns out ok.

sorry if this, in turn, causes the story to come out as absolute gash!


	5. Chapter 4: Observations and Occupations

Wow, I'm absolutely blown away by all the feedback!

Thank you very much to everyone who favourited, alerted or reviewed!

Over 40 alerts, 25 favs and lots and lots of hits! all in just three days! Thanks so much!

It was slightly hilarious to open my emails in the next morning and have close to 100 new messages!

Special thanks to an anonymous reviewer 'bb'.

Disclaimer: If I owned Alex Rider, Sabina wouldn't exist. (Sorry all those Sabina fans! She just rubs me the wrong way!) And Alex would probably end up with a bloke. (Yassen??? Wolf???) (sorry for anyone who just got their hopes up, this is almost definately not going to be slash.)

But anyway, on with the story!

* * *

Observations and Occupations

For days after the incident, Ferret watched the boy in question, trying to figure anything out about him. Yet even with the continuous taunting by the soldiers, the teen remained emotionless and unsolvable. He noticed the new additions to the camp and the boys regular visits to each building they were housed in. he figured himself that the first person – a thirty-something year old man with brown hair and a slightly crooked nose – was a tutor, having spied some of the books Cub carried, yet the second person was a mystery.

For a man almost finished his training with the SAS, Ferret didn't like the idea that someone could withhold so much information about themselves. And yet after a week of watching him, he was still no closer to solving the puzzle that Cub presented.

As his last week at the base – hell – began, he decided that the only way he would be receiving the answers he wanted, would be to confront the teen. He just wondered if this would be comparable to suicide.

Alex smirked down into his meal. He doubted anyone in the camp would relate the slight twitching of his lips to a smirk, but Alex had learnt from the best. He had firmly imprinted himself on the style Yassen had presented himself through. Emotionless and untouchable. So he found it funny when the SAS soldier, Ferret he found his name was, continued to watch him 'discretely' for a week after the incident.

Did the older male honestly think he didn't notice when he happen to be loitering outside the cabin he used for his lessons and meetings with his psychiatrist? Or that he didn't notice the persistent glances during meals? The men of the SAS had no concept of the word 'subtle'.

Therefore it came as no surprise, a week and a half later, when Ferret finally confronted him, once again in the showers when the rest of the camp were, presumably, in the mess hall. Thankfully, this meeting was timed, and Alex found both of them comfortably dressed, and his own wounds unexposed.

"Cub."

Alex spared the man a glance, "I'm called Cougar."

Ferret couldn't keep a wry grin off his face at that, "You'll always be Cub around here kid."

Alex didn't both to acknowledge him this time, and Ferret found the situation rapidly becoming more and more uncomfortable, until the point he felt obliged to open his mouth and speak.

"What's with you, anyway?"

He flinched at both his own stupidity and the cold glare he received.

"Classified."

He winced again, knowing, as an SAS soldier, he shouldn't have found himself in such a situation with a teenager, one where the kid in question was in control of the meeting and he resorted to speaking the first thought that came into his mind.

He had to remind himself that he already knew the boy was trained in this sort of thing, obviously much more than the average SAS soldier.

'Wonder where else he's trained… or what his job is even. People say he's Special Ops…'

He shook his head to clear the thoughts, realising he had been standing idle for more than just a few moments now and the teen had turned back to his shower and flicked the water on, waiting for it to warm considerably.

"So you _are_ special ops? I thought they were making that up."

"It's none of your concern why I'm here. And you can stop watching me, people may start believing you have inappropriate feelings for me."  
Ferret spluttered in indignation, "I'm not- it's not like- who says that!?!"

"No one, but the sergeant is starting to notice your obsessive staring. And the cooks. The other soldiers will start noticing soon. So stop watching me."

Ferret was about to argue back, but found himself unable to as the boy quickly slipped his top over his head, and his eyes immediately wandered back to the bullet wound.

It was entrancing. The edges were still slightly puckered, but the red inflammations around it had lessened drastically. How often had he shot a bullet similar to the one that had punctured Cub's chest? How many similarly shaped holes had he created in small paper targets? None of the practises showed the way the skin around the wound became inflamed, or the way the wound would forever mar the skin. The paper targets were reeled in and thrown away. Ferret wondered how many times he would create similar injuries on people, and how many times out of those the target would survive.

He forced his eyes to divert from the kids chest as the boy removed the rest of his clothes, nonchalantly. Ferret found himself wondering if this kid had no sense of modesty, or if he was simply so unabashed about other people seeing his body that it no longer occurred to him that he should feel some sort of embarrassment.

He leant against the counter where Cub's clothes were laying, and waited for the boy to finish his shower, determined to get answers.

Meanwhile, he pondered what he already knew.

Cub was most likely SO. He heard they were rather twisted from the officers' talk, only they would consider using children. The kid had been shot in the chest. Obviously whatever they had him doing was dangerous, and he was either really crap at it, or he was better than he could even begin to comprehend. He didn't think it was the first. And he also knew the teen had been at Beacon Brecons before.

But why had he come back?

If the kid really was as good as he thought he was, surely he wouldn't need more training. And with such a recent gunshot, there was no point bringing him here so early…

That was another question, who shot him? And if they were aiming for the heart, would they be pissed he survived?

That was it, wasn't it? Cub was here for protection and the training he would get to do once better was just a bonus. He smirked in self-satisfaction at having figured out the mystery finally.

He jumped when a voice sounded from right beside him.

"You figured it out then? Fine, now keep it to yourself."

Ferret turned round, startled to face the blonde teen, completely caught off guard by his – completely dressed – presence beside him. How hadn't he noticed the shower stopping?

As if reading his thoughts, the boy gave him a calculating stare before saying, "I can become undetectable if I want. Now make sure you keep your mouth shut, if I hear anyone talking about it, it's your balls."

The kid stalked out, pausing at the door to glance briefly over his shoulder at the pale man, "You know, if you'd figured it out maybe a week ago, you could have had a possible future in S.O.'s. Just a _bit_ slow."

Ferret stared at the door in shock as it banged shut behind the teen. Did Cub just… taunt him?

What was this world coming to?

* * *

Today was a good day. Not only had he been given the go-ahead for joining in the physical aspects of training – 'Provided you don't strain yourself, and stop if you need a break' the overcautious doctor had told him – but also it was Ferret's last day. He had found no small amount of humour in the man's constant attempts to understand him more. The man had even taken to sitting opposite him at dinners if he was late finishing, staring intently at him and suddenly shooting a question at him, as if he thought to catch him off guard would result in him throwing his life story out into the open from shock.

But, while the man had humoured him slightly, he would be glad to see the back of him. Not only had Alex received darker glares from the rest of Ferret's unit for the man spending so much time on him, but he was becoming weary of the constant attention. It was his job to blend in with the background, ignoring the people around him. And while Ferret was pestering him, he was still the centre of attention.

He had been expecting the taunts to last about a week, before the soldiers got tired of it – with the exception of K-Unit, they would never tire of tormenting him, not that it bothered him anymore – but with Ferret's constant attention, the soldiers just found their spite renewed and fresh taunts to spew out every day.

Though double 'oh' nothing would ever get old.

So, this morning he woke sharply, and, instead of heading to the mess for a long breakfast, he waited for K-Unit before following a short distance behind them as they set a steady pace down the track.

He was surprised that Wolf stayed in front of him the entire time and didn't try anything on him, but he just shrugged it off, if Wolf wasn't going to give him a hard time, he wasn't going to say anything. He was pleased to find, at the end of the run, that he'd kept up easily with his teammates, having been worried after his few weeks' recuperation. Of course, he'd yet to do any of the more… challenging tasks yet. He was sure the assault course would take a chunk out of him before he finished. Not to mention he was scheduled for hand-to-hand combat today. Wolf was probably holding himself back for that before he had a go at him.

However, even as combat training came around, Wolf didn't even spare him a glance. The three of them quickly settled into a three-way spar, leaving him to observe from the side for a minute. He shook his head while smirking, amused at the behaviour of the soldiers; they were doing him a favour really. He took a stance at the side of the room, closed his eyes, and began moving through the kata.

He was halfway through when he heard the slight creak from the floorboards in front of him. He immediately dodged left, opening his eyes sharply, and a split second later Wolf's face met the unrelenting wooden floor, a forearm pressed to the back of his neck.

He left it there for several seconds before moving back, Wolf immediately springing to his feet and turning to try again.

However Alex wasn't paying attention to him anymore, and dodged from instinct. Wolf lashed out with his foot, causing Alex to raise his forearm again to block, gripping the ankle with his other arm immediately afterwards and pulling towards himself, causing Wolf's feet to slip from beneath him and a loud grunt to emit from his lips as the breath was forced out of him.

Satisfied Wolf wasn't about to get up again to attack while his back's turned, Alex twisted to face the door and stood to attention, acknowledging the sergeant's presence.

He saw, more than heard, the other two jump to attention behind him, followed by Wolf as he pulled himself up, rubbing his back before taking up a similar stance.

"Good work Cougar. Wolf, we're going to need to talk about your teamwork skills…" he left the sentence hanging, allowing Wolf to grumble under his breath without reprimand as he moved out of the doorway. "Someone to see you Cougar."

Alex would have groaned when he saw Mrs. Jones if he had been the same teenager he was before he encountered Scorpia. Instead he immediately saluted, standing straight until she allowed otherwise. The rest of K-Unit looked on curiously, not understanding the import of Mrs. Jones.

"At ease, Alex. It's nice to see you back to full strength and already taking down enemies double your size." She gave him a slight smile which he returned with an emotionless stance. He recognised the slight flicker of regret in her eyes before she ruthlessly squashed it aside to focus on her reason for coming.

"I'm sure you're curious as to why I'm here. Let's go somewhere more private to talk." She turned to the sergeant, "Your office is free sergeant?" she phrased it as a question, but everyone in the room knew it was anything but.

"Of course, Ma'am"

She motioned Alex out, leaving the sergeant and K-Unit behind.

* * *

The walk to the sergeant's office was short and silent, both of them ignoring the curious glances directed their way. Alex knew they wanted to comment, badly, but with Mrs Jones as an unknown figure to them, they knew that could end in a binning.

Alex closed the door behind her, before standing to attention, sitting when she allowed it.

"How have you been Alex?"

"Fine Ma'am."

She didn't even try to hide the wince when he said that. What had happened to the cheeky boy who adamantly refused to do any mission before succeeding with unbelievable results? Where had the boy gone who told them he wanted nothing to do with them? She had read the reports from the psychiatrist. None of them were good. She regretted deeply that they had only afforded him that expense when he agreed to become an official agent. If only he had had someone to talk to about this before, when he came back from his first mission, after he was threatened with dissection, once he had witnessed a man commit suicide in front of him, when he had had no one to turn to about Damien Cray. The list of moments of emotional upheaval was endless, and during all that he would have kept it all to himself. His late-guardian, Jacqueline Starbright wouldn't have been told, he wouldn't want to worry her even more with all the things he'd seen. She was nearly a mother to him, and Tulip suddenly felt extreme pity for her, to have to watch the boy who she regarded as her son be used again and again by the country. Put in places where grown and trained adults wouldn't last a second in, and come stumbling home hours, days or weeks later, battered and bruised.

And MI6 knew his friend, Tom, knew about what he did out of school, but what schoolboy could truly understand the horrors of the world. What schoolboy except Alex.

It was truly a pity he was so unique and exceptional, he was just too good to let go.

And he knew it.

She could see the resignation in his face when she had entered his hospital room. He had known what had happened before he'd even asked, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. He had yielded to the reality that he would never get away from this world. Not after everything he had done. And so he had joined MI6. Indefinitely.

She sighed, reaching into the handbag she had brought with her to the Welsh countryside and popping a mint into her mouth.

"I'll just get down to business then, shall I? We're having some trouble in Shanghai. Two of our agents over there have disappeared following investigation into the possibility of British citizens being abducted for the slave market. We'll kit you up on the way to the-"

She was cut off sharply by the sounds of shouting, storming feet, and finally several gun shots.

They both looked to the door instantly, Mrs. Jones taking several hesitant steps towards it before he pushed her back, out of sight behind the desk. He sidled to stand behind the filing cabinet beside the door, listening as the gunshots and shouting ceased, while the footsteps continued charging throughout the camp.

The sound of doors being kicked open became louder as the assailants worked their way closer to the office.

He listened intently, recognising when they kicked down the door of the second-in-command's door. There was another gunshot. Whoever had been hiding in there hadn't been lucky.

Finally they approached the door he stood beside.

He could make out two people panting heavily, but that didn't mean there wasn't others who were above them, and as such weren't doing any of the manual labour.

He'd just have to hope it was only the two of them.

Before he could consider it any further the door flew open, smashing into the plastic bin on the other side of the door causing it to spring closed again, leaving it slightly ajar.

These people were obviously amateurs then. No professional would let a door bounce back to hinder their view into the room. It was imperative they were able to see where they were going as soon as it happened. And the noise the men were making was outrageous. It's as if they didn't expect any danger.

They walked in, two of them, almost casually, looking in front of them as they did so. With their guns pointed towards it, they moved towards the desk.

And that was when Alex lunged.

* * *

I know, most of you are probably going to be like 'what was the point of introducing Ferret if he's leaving already?!?' Well, he was just there to emphasize Alex's reluctance to socialise or let anyone know anything about him - on the more emotional side, form any attachments, after what happened to Jack. He also played the part of understanding how special Alex is.

I just didn't really want to use K-Unit to do that, it'll be a while before Alex and them can civilly work together. And a lot of stories have Alex and K-unit getting along grandly as soon as they reunite, but - even though I enjoy those stories very much - I don't find that very realistic, even after Point Blanc.

I'm worried that I've pushed into the action a bit soon, I was going to do a lot more character developement and what-not first, but it just turned out that this all started now. Please let me know if you think I'm moving too fast! Just let me know how I'm doing!

Btw, the 'occupations' in the title refers to a take over of enemy land, not a job. Just want to clear that up incase anyone asks. I know, I could have used 'invasions', but that just gave the game away, didn't it?


	6. Chapter 5: Plans and Plumbing

So... been a LONG time since this has been updated... oops! If any of you can actually remember this story - congrats! :P Thanks for all the support so far!

I'm not going to promise to update more regularly from now on, as I'm a really busy person, and can only write when the need takes me.

The majority of this chapter had been written a while back, but since then I've decided to do slightly shorter chapters (~2k), so figured I would post this, then start a new, fresh chapter and hope inspiration takes me!

Disclaimer: If I owned AR, he would be gay - I mean, he is anyway, but he'd be more honest with himself and others about it.

* * *

Chapter Five - Plans and Plumbing

The men were bound, and forced into the cupboard in the cabin in a crumpled heap, displacing several jackets from their hangers. Once that was completed Alex looked to Mrs. Jones. This was the first time he had been in a real combat situation with her – when they're on the same side, at least – and for once she was able to give him orders on the situation at hand.

She gave him what, to any civilian, would pass as a indifferent stare, but Alex could easily pick out the stress lines stretched tightly around her mouth and barely heard the sound of the mint in her mouth being ground by her tightly clenched teeth. Her breathing was also strictly controlled, a common way of attempting to keep control when in situations people aren't comfortable with.

"Do whatever you need to Alex," she stated, giving him the order he wanted to take the mission into his own hands once again.

Sneaking quietly to the almost closed door, he placed a hand on it to keep it in place as he glanced at the area he could see outside the cabin.

People were moving everywhere. There were several dead bodies across the camp, lying in pools of blood and Alex watched as one man lay gasping for breath for several seconds before a second bullet silenced him. He heard a small, sharp intake of breath from Mrs. Jones at the gun shot, the last having been several minutes before.

The rest of the soldiers were being led back into the mess hall, their hands clasped behind their heads as the intruders followed closely behind carrying automatic rifles aimed into the SAS men's backs'.

Alex pulled back after several more moments observing, as most of the soldiers had already been escorted in and soon the invaders would once again search the camp for anyone still hidden.

As if to prove his point a stern looking man with brown hair cut short in a militaristic style, a tight white top and a pair of khaki combats walked out of the mess hall and started barking out orders.

Immediately Alex was away from the door, leaving it in it's place, and paced straight back to Mrs. Jones.

The window was unlocked, as always when he entered the office, and he quickly pushed Mrs. Jones through, thanking the sergeant that his office was backing into the forest. Giving a quick look around the office, he swiftly slid out the open window and placed it gently back in it's frame before taking the older woman's wrist and pulling her into the forest with him. They needed to think up a plan of attack before any of the captured soldiers started getting killed.

* * *

Ferret glanced around at the armed men surrounding the mess hall in tightly formed ranks. He could immediately pick out several people who weren't present in the hall. Pitbull was missing, but Ferret was almost certain that he wouldn't be seeing the man again, he had a habit of getting rash at inconvenient times and they had all seen the few bodies in the camp as they were herded like sheep into the mess. Chipmunk was missing as well, though Ferret wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The man would most certainly make things worse for them if he were present, but being missing… well, that wasn't good either.

And, most obviously, Cub, or Cougar as he was meant to be known, was absent. As was the woman he had been meeting with. Keeping his head bowed, Ferret failed to contain the grin that covered his face. He knew that the kid was good, hopefully he was going to prove it and get himself the hell out of there. No matter how good he was, these odds were impossible at best. If he was smart, he would stay away.

* * *

Alex only allowed himself to continue five minutes into the forest. He needed to be close enough to hear what was going on in the camp – if the bullets started flying, there would be no choice but to creep back in and take people out from strategic positions.

But for now all he had to work with was what he had witnessed from the door to the sergeant's office. He had stripped the two men of their weapons, receiving only the two guns and several army knifes, not that he had expected more after their obvious amateur approach to the entire situation. The knives had, at least, been covered and the sheathes quickly slid into his belt. Taking stock of the ammo in each weapon, he looked up sharply as Mrs. Jones flicked the safety off the handgun that had appeared from her handbag.

She cast Alex a wicked smile, extremely out of her usual style, "I wasn't always a paper pusher Alex, gotta be prepared."

He gave her a brief nod before turning back to his own preparations and planning. He would need to go back to his cabin for supplies, but first he needed to decided what he would do.

He took a seat at the base of a tree and immediately started speaking his thoughts aloud, trying to find some solution to the problem.

"The mess hall is a long rectangle, approx 20 by 30 meters with a kitchen attached to the southern end, 10 by 10 approx. The dining area has high windows, possible for sniper positions. Obvious though, and if a sniper was to start taking them out, the SAS would be taken out in retaliation. A distraction would work. From the kitchen? A fire? No. that would take too long, and the burning smell would be obvious. But with a kitchen there's the possibility of a fire, so there's fire detectors. And sprinklers! Now think, where's the water supply for the mess hall? There's a system of pipes out back, though it's risky to pick one, there's not enough for if the wrong one is picked… and then someone needs to get inside to activate the fire detectors and set the sprinklers off… but I'll deal with that later. First we need-"

He cut off as the sound of feet entered the forest near them.

Shooting a look at Mrs Jones as he backed himself up against the tree, standing properly with his gun ready, she nodded back, pressed against a tree five meters away.

The man running was panting, his breath loud through the silent forest and the path he was running along would lead him several feet away from Alex's hiding position, within tackling distance as he passed.

Taking a steadying breath, Alex focused on the breathing and footfall, waiting. He leapt a split second after the man passed, knocking him on his front on the forest floor and pressing the butt of his gun against the man's neck.

"Identify yourself."

"It - It's me! Heron! Don't shoot me!"

Alex pulled the gun back slightly, recognising the voice and hair. "Roll over"

The man did without a complaint, allowing Alex to confirm he was in fact Heron.

"Get up."

The man pulled himself to his feet with a huff, finally taking note of who had him pinned to the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Double o' Nuffin! Playing with guns now!"

"This isn't the time, H-"

"Get outta here brat, run back home to daddy. I don't need you telling me-"

"Stand down soldier!" Mrs Jones barked sharply, causing the man to turn sharply to face her, having not noticed her presence until then.

"And who are you, woman! Don't give me orders like you're better than me! I'm in my last week here, not some bloody secretary!"

He gasped in pain as his feet were knocked from underneath him, forcing him into a kneel and the gun pressed back against his neck.

"Apologise."

"What the bloody hell brat? What do you-"

Alex ignored him, pressing the gun more forcefully into the tense skin, "Apologise!"

Mrs Jones took several steps forward, placing her hand on Alex's forearm in a soothing manner.

"Stand down Alex."

There was no change for several seconds before he reluctantly lowered the weapon to his side.

Mrs Jones turned back to Heron, a stern frown on her face.

"Stand up soldier!"

Heron stood leisurely, making a show of massaging his shoulder from where his arms had been pulled behind his back.

Turning to face Mrs Jones his head whipped sideways as she backhanded him.

"Don't speak to your superiors like that again, soldier." She firmly ordered.

"You trying to say that kid is higher than me?" he asked mockingly.

"I wasn't talking about him, but you're right. I am the second in charge of MI6, and Alex here is our best agent. So when he gives you an order, you damn well follow it!"

For the first time in several weeks, Heron was speechless, staring from Alex to Mrs Jones waiting for one of them to crack and grin and announce that he 'fell for it'. However neither obliged and he finally managed to close his jaw.

"What're you doing standing around here then if you're some super-spy! Call in re-enforcements or something!"

Alex didn't even bother to glance at him, walking away in the direction Heron had come from.

"Re-enforcements would take too long. We've got to take care of Scorpia with what we've got," Mrs Jones explained as Alex wandered back.

"No-one was following."

"I'm not some rookie, brat!" Heron declared, heatedly but neither of the two MI6 members paid him any mind, Alex already squatting to the ground with a stick in hand sketching rushed diagrams into the soil.

"We're about here, not too far from the West entrance to the camp, the other main entrance being South. From what I can surmise, Scorpia came from the East, through the forest, with ease. The camp is being held here, in the mess hall" he jabbed his stick at the largest square on his drawing, to the North East of the camp. "We don't know how long they've got before the body count starts rising again so we need to act fast. I need to get to my bunk then to behind the kitchens, here" he points again, "without being noticed, can you run distraction?" He looked to Mrs Jones, wondering if the second in command would be willing to risk her life against Scorpia.

She nodded, determined, cocking her gun, "My presence alone should keep their attention for roughly 3 minutes before they refocus on the rest of the camp. I'll lay false trails for you: you're already on your way to Shanghai. I had been talking to the sergeant about your progress and would be returning to Beacon Manor for the night."

Alex nodded in acceptance before looking at the last member of the trio. "Heron, what are you good at?"

The somewhat lanky man stared at him distastefully before complying, "Firearms mainly, I suppose stealth as well."

Alex frowned at the forest floor, going through his plan mentally once more. He glanced back at the man, biting his lip anxiously before asking: "You any good with plumbing?"

* * *

Soooo... any feedback would be great (even if it's just 'OMG! You updated!') - particularly as I'm just coming back to this fic after so long.


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